Child of the haunted
by Cinna and his Clothes
Summary: But mother can't get picked. She just can't. I mean, the Capitol is horrible, but they simply wouldn't pick a woman with three children. No one would. This is the story of Cecelia Hemsworth's child. Cecelia has to go into the Hunger Games- again.
1. A promise

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games or any of the characters.**

**Author's note: Hey guys just wanting to tell you about the names I have used so far in this story. So there's Flax of course, which is because the flax plant has a fibre that is made into material, so it's like textiles in district eight, then there's Cali, which is short for Calico, which is another textile, then Serge, which is a type of twill fabric, and then there's Deni, which is short for Denim, which of course you know is a textile, then there's Hollie, which is like Hollie point, which is a type of needle lace, then Paisley, which is like a pattern that is used on many materials, and last of all Lea, which is short for leather or leatherette.**

**Anyway, enjoy!**

I awaken to the sound of sobbing. I look across to the other side of the room to see mother, sitting on Cali's bed, holding her to her chest.

'I'm scared,' she sniffs.

'You're not in the reaping honey, even if this year wasn't the Quarter Quell. You have years until you have to go in the reaping. You're only five.'

'I know but you might have to go away. The lady might pick you and the people might take you away,' she cries. Mother remains silent, staring out the window at the heavy mist settling across the grey urban buildings.

'Flax! You're awake. Come on down and eat something honey.' Mother smiles an obvious fake smile. I get up.

After breakfast I go upstairs to get changed. I grab my dress out. The dress is pale yellow, with a scratchy, yellow lining on the seam. I wore it last year. I slip it on, but my heart feels like a drum, pulsing inside my chest. My mother. My mother, Cecelia Hemsworth, has a quarter chance of being reaped for the 75th Hunger Games, the third Quarter Quell. Only three other female victors from district eight still alive. Only three others that might get picked instead of my mother. But mother _can't _get picked. She just _can't. _I mean, the Capitol is horrible, but they simply wouldn't pick a woman with three children. No one would. No one should. No one could.

'Flax honey, come on it's time to go!' I go downstairs and find my family waiting at the door.

The fog lifts to reveal a warm day underneath. I am not nervous at all now. After thinking it through, I know that no matter _how _despicable the Capitol are, they will not pick my mother. We walk in silence to the square, my mind pre-occupied with the feast that we prepared for tonight. Fresh basil and tomato salad with spices. Every year we save up every little cent for the post-reaping feast. We're not poor and starving, but we're not rich. We're just an average, middle class family. Cali tugs on my arm.

'Flaxy,' she says, 'I'm scared that mum will be taken away.'

'Cali, they would never pick mum. Never, ever, ever!'

'How do you know?'

'I'm thirteen. I know a lot more than you do.'

'You promise that mum won't get picked?' She asks.

'Yes, I promise.' Cali smiles and then bounces off.

We enter the town square silently. For once, I don't have to sign in and be herded off like a lamb into the little roped off area. I stand with the crowd. Mother signs in and stands with the three other female victors: Deni Gunstingson, who is over sixty and very horrid, Hollie Throop, who is about forty and didn't kill anyone in her games, but managed to win anyway because she hid and no one could find her, and eventually they sent snakes with poison dipped fangs and fire breath after her, but the last remaining tribute got in the way and was killed, and the most recent victor, Paisley Downsland, who is about twenty-five and won only ten years ago, at the age of fifteen.

I see Paisley Downsland's sixteen-year-old sister standing in the crowd and looking fearful. I smile. It's a horrid thing to do, really, but just thinking about that feast is making me happy. Serge, my eight-year-old brother, looks at me fearfully. I lean in towards him.

'Don't worry, mother won't get picked.' He doesn't look at all reassured, as Cali had. Hestia Fulgham, district eight's escort, stands on stage.

'Hello, and welcome to the reaping for the 75th Hunger Games, also known as the third Quarter Quell. This year, the tributes will be reaped from the existing pool of victors. So, let's get started, shall we?' She beams.

'District eight is still the only district to pick the male tribute first, so we shall stick with that tradition.' She says. She trots over to the male ball. There are only two male tributes to choose from, Woof Kindler, a very old man who's very hard of hearing and sight, and Lea Towler, a man around forty or fifty who turned to drugs long ago. He drinks a lot of alcohol and is addicted to the painkiller, 'morphling'.

For an outline district, district eight has a lot of victors. Six is a great number of victors to have.

Hestia reaches in, and snags onto one of the two pieces of paper in the ball. She waddles back to the microphone, clears her throat and booms 'Woof Kindler'. The old man doesn't even register what is going on, until two peacekeepers grab him and drag him to the stage. He suddenly appears to realise what is going on, but still he remains emotionless. He may be old, but he certainly remembers how to keep a straight face for the camera. Hestia congratulates him and moves on to the female ball. As she is reaching in, I suddenly have a terrible thought. _What if they pick mother? What if they don't care that she has three children? _And then I remember something. _I don't even know if they decide who they're going to pick. What if they just pick a random- _

'Cecelia Hemsworth.' Hestia interrupts me. Serge is the first one to react.

'No!' He screams. He runs up to her and grabs her arm.

'No mum you can't go!'

Cali is the next one.

'Mummy! Mummy no! They can't take you away! No!' She shrieks and runs up to her, sobbing and screaming. Finally reality kicks into my brain.

'No. No. No!' I run up to her and shake her, staring into her brown eyes.

'No mum. Just no. Mum no don't go! Please!' Her face is expressionless. She shoves me off and then pushes Serge and Cali into me. All three of us try to cling back on but there is something harsh in her voice.

'Just go.' We back away, out of the roped off area. Cali leans in towards me and I think she wants a hug but she whispers something in my ear. The harshest words I'll ever know.

'You promised.'

**Please review, any kind of criticism is fine. Thank you! Will update soon.**


	2. A whip

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games or any of the characters.**

**Author's note: Hi again! Hope you enjoyed last chapter. Please review! Anyway, here it is:**

The bitter words of my little sister still ring in my ears as father takes our arms and lead us towards the Justice Building where we will get to say our final goodbyes. Serge is still screaming, but Cali just stands there, looking at me. Her face is not angry, worse than that. Her face is disappointed. Her face is that of a little girl looking up to her role-model sister after she did something wrong. I guess that's because that's exactly what it is. As we walk towards the doors of the Justice building, a peacekeeper steps in front of us.

'I'm sorry but there is a new procedure. You are not allowed to wish goodbye to the tributes.' It takes a minute for the words to sink in. When they do, father goes absolutely hysterical.

'No. That woman is my wife, and these are her children. We have to see her.' Father says. The peacekeeper suddenly becomes very angry.

'Look mate, I don't care if you are bloody President Snow, and that is your wife. It does not matter, you are not getting in that door.' Father's eyes are full of fire. He lurches forward and punches the peacekeeper squarely in the face. The peacekeeper, taken by surprise, is knocked to the ground. Suddenly, another peacekeeper comes in and grabs father from behind.

'How dare you,' he spits, 'how dare you, injure authority.' Father is dragged to the centre of the square. Serge, who had briefly stopped screaming, starts up again. Cali still just stares at me, but this time, a tear splatters onto the concrete.

'No.' I say. Father is being taken away. 'No!' I spin around just in time to see father being tied to a wooden post. I suddenly know what is happening. Father is going to be whipped. Doesn't happen a whole lot in district eight. Well, a whole lot worse has happened instead. The uprising caused a whole lot of death. Serge still has a puncture in his right leg from where he was shot. Luckily, the bullet didn't go far in. He still has trouble walking though.

I suddenly see the peacekeeper race the whip. 'No!' I shriek. 'No stop!' I am a coward. I should run into the square and jump in front of that whip, but the thought of the pain is what holds me back.

But Cali is not a coward. She gives me one long, hard look before she runs into the square. _What is she doing? _I wonder. Then I see her jump in front of father.

'No!' The scream bursts from my throat. The peacekeeper is confused.

'Get out of the way, little girl, or I'll whip you as well.'

'Cali, no!' Father screams. I run into the square, and grab Cali, drag her out of the way.

'Flax, leave me alone.' She says harshly, but I don't let her go. We watch father be whipped twenty painful times, and then the peacekeeper says,

'Do you promise that you will never, ever violate or injure the authority again?' Father nods his head.

'Then take your children and get out of here.' Father is untied, and let drop to the ground. I feel a hand on my shoulder, and spin around to see father's friend, Baize Springshill, standing there. He is holding a stretcher. Baize and another man help lift up father and lay him on a stretcher, then carry him to the house.

'Flax,' says Baize, 'Get Serge and Cali to eat something, and then put them to bed.' I nod and go to walk out of the room.

'Oh and Flax,' Baize says, 'I'm sorry, about your mother.' I just nod and then leave the room.

I am too tired to make anything, so I give Cali and Serge each two pieces of bread with butter, and then take them by the hand up to bed. When I put Cali in bed, she just gives me that cold, disappointing look.

'Cali, I'm sorry.'

'You promised.'

'I know, because I thought mum wouldn't get taken away. But I was wrong.'

'But I believed you.' I am silent. Then Cali speaks again.

'Did the Capitol take mummy away?'

'Yes.'

'Then I hate the Capitol.'

'Don't say that.'

'But I do.' I am too tired to argue.

'So do I, Cali. So do I.'

I wake up, my face pressed against Cali's bed. I must have fallen asleep. I look over at Cali. She looks so much older than five. She looks my age. Her almond-coloured hair is spread wildly around her, frizzy and distorted. As I attempt to get up from the bed without waking her, she wakes up.

'Hey kitty.' I use the nickname I haven't used since she was three. She gives me a tired smile.

'You never use that nickname anymore.' We get up, leaving Serge to sleep in peace, and go downstairs. Baize is still here, dripping father's back with an unpleasant liquid that makes father grimace.

'Daddy!' Cali squeals, not noticing the bloody streaks running along his back.

'Good morning sweetheart.' She goes up and hugs him, which causes him to wince.

'Cali!' I say sharply. She backs away from father. I say good morning to father, thank Baize, and then take Cali into the kitchen, where I give her two more pieces of bread and butter, but this time also boil some potatoes so that we can have a change of meal. We melt the last of the cheese on our potato, then eat it up. I take one in and feed it to father, then offer one to Baize, who accepts it. Serge comes down the stairs and I hand him one.

Late in the afternoon, father is feeling a lot better. He was lucky. It appears that the peacekeeper who was whipping him was either drunk or a little short-sighted, but he missed father's back a lot, and father ended up only receiving about ten lashes. We gave Baize a little bit of money, as a meagre thank you gift for all he has done. After Baize left, father went straight up to Cali and grabbed her by the collar.

'Cali,' he fumes, 'you have to promise me that you will never, ever, try to save my life again.' Cali is scared. Her lip trembles.

'Okay.'

**Anyway, I'm sure this is just crap but please review. You can tell me it's crap if you want.**


	3. A chariot and a story

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games or any of the characters**

**Author's note: Hey guys! Hope you enjoyed the last chapter. Hope you enjoy this one!**

We crowd around the television screen. We saved up so much for this television. It's a good quality television.

It's time for the chariot rides. Father sits in his rocking chair with Cali on his lap, and Serge and I lie down on the rug I made when I was nine. It's a bit crooked at places, and the edges are frayed and dirty, but it's better than sitting on the floor. Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith sit side by side, telling us about the interesting mix of tributes we have this year for the Quarter Quell. We didn't watch the other reapings because of father and the whipping. And then the first chariot rolls out.

I try to keep up with every chariot, but only a few manage to keep themselves in my memory. District two are wearing dark outfits that look to be made of stone. On the district four chariot, Finnick Odair, who may be the most attractive citizen of Panem, is wearing a golden net that is knotted at his groin so that he's not really naked, but I still find it very unappealing. I put my hands in front of Serge's eyes. District six are wearing brightly coloured outfits with very odd headpieces. When district eight's chariot rolls out, I gasp. Mother looks very pretty. She is wearing a shiny black dress embroidered with stitches of colourful flowers and leaves. She looks petrified, but still manages to wave to the crowd a bit. Woof is wearing a matching suit, except his is embroidered with vines. I think back to last year's outfits for district eight. They were terrible. They looked like pink and blue clowns in my opinion. I wonder if mother had a different stylist from last year. District ten's outfits are horrible. They are dressed as cows, but they have flaming belts and look like they are cooking themselves.

Last year, district twelve looked fantastic. Katniss Everdeen, and the boy, Peter or something, are the most famous people in all of Panem. This year they look… they look unearthly. They are wearing jumpsuits that light up like an ember, shifting and moving like flames. Their faces are caked with dark, fiery makeup, and placed on their heads are half crowns that look to be red hot.

'They look amazing,' breathes Serge.

'Not as amazing as mother,' I snap, but I can see that district twelve had stolen the show away again.

That night, I lie in bed, thinking about mother. Imagining her being killed in a thousand different ways; stabbed, sliced, shot. I try to think about something else, but the only thing that comes to mind is that my two best friends; Dazzy and Ray, and their entire families were killed in a factory explosion. Dazzy was my age. She had an older sister, and a mother and a father. The were all dead, all gone forever. Ray was only twelve. She had a twin brother named Russell who, I never told anyone, but I liked him. He too, was killed in the factory explosion. I would have been killed to, if I hadn't been sick that day. Actually, it was supposed to be Serge's first day there that day, but he was sick too. We both had the measles. But Dazzy and Ray and Russell and their families. I couldn't believe it. I never thought I'd be glad to be sick, but that day, I was.

'Flax. Flax!' My eyes flutter open to see Serge standing over me.

'Serge! What is it?' I moan.

'I had a bad dream.' It has been a few years or so since Serge woke me up for a nightmare.

'What happened?' I ask groggily, still half asleep.

'Mum was taken away and then the peacekeepers came and they had a gun and they shot her, just like they shot my leg, except it was her head. And then she fell down onto the ground, and she died.' Even when he was younger, Serge never had dreams this gruesome.

'Oh. What would you like me to do?' I ask.

'Can you tell me a story?' His whisper bounces off the walls. I get out of bed and take his hand, then lead him over to his bed. He climbs in, and I wrack my brain for a story to tell. I finally remember one.

'There was once a man, and he wanted a wife. So he decided to go on a journey to find his one true love. Just before he left, an old woman came up to him and handed him three oranges. "Take these." She said. So he thanked the woman and took the oranges, then begun his journey.'

'He walked for ten days and night, but he did not find his one true love. He also ran out of water. He was so thirsty, when he remembered the oranges. He took one out, but as soon as he opened it, a woman popped out. She was a beautiful young woman with hair the colour of butter and eyes the colour of the ocean. He thought she might be his one true love. And soon as she stood on the earth she begged him for water. He searched as much as he could, but could not find any water. After ten minutes, the woman vanished, and there was nothing left but the orange. The man though he must have been so thirsty that he went crazy. He ate the orange, and then continued his journey. '

'After another day, he became thirsty again. He remembered the oranges and took one out. But as soon as he opened it, a different woman popped out. This one was even more beautiful than the last. She had hair the colour of mahogany and eyes the colour of chocolate. As soon as she stood on the earth, she begged him for water. He searched even harder than he had done last time, but still he found none. After ten minutes, she too vanished and left nothing behind but the orange. As the man ate the orange, he realised that he must be so thirsty that he imagined her. He finished the orange and continued his journey.'

'He walked for another day until he came to a large lake. He was very thirsty and he sat by the lake and drank as much water as he could. He then remembered the last orange, and decided he was pretty hungry and would like to eat it. But as soon as he opened it, a woman, even more beautiful than the last, popped out. She had hair the colour of a raven and eyes the colour of emeralds. As soon as she stood on the earth, she began to beg him for water, He ran to the lake and filled up a bowl with water and handed to her. She drank it and then she didn't disappear and the man went back to his village with the woman and they lived happily ever after.'

By the time I finish the story, Serge is fast asleep. I kiss him on the head and go back to bed.

It doesn't take long for dreams to come.


End file.
